There was this feeling inside my chest that reverberated in every direction such that I felt it in my stomach, in my shoulders, in my throat. But I felt it most sharply in my heart, which is directly linked to my brain with a pit stop at my tear ducts.

I started feeling it a couple months ago when I received my friend’s 50th birthday invitation and knew right in that moment that not finding a way to make it to this event was really not an option. Still, with all the business of life between then and the date of the party, I was able to set it aside and not deal with the emotional part of it. I was elated about the reason I was traveling back to this town… I was going to see people that have special meaning to me, that I feel love me to my very core despite my many flaws and despite the amount of time that passes between our visits. These people were in my life during some of the very best moments in my life, during some of the very worst moments of my life, and also during many learning moments that I experienced, as my heart was ripped out, shredded, put back in, bandaged, still damaged, trying to heal… when I think about some of these people, I don’t just see someone I know and love, I see the ribbon of my life history with the shimmer of the good times, the loops of my ups and downs, and the flat, grounding moments all tied together. I see people that were part of the pain I experienced and lived through, became stronger because of - but also a bit jaded, a bit hardened, a bit cynical… all things I had to work through so that I could experience true joy again, true color again, true love again and… to trust again.  In a word, it was heavy. Especially because not only did I have both the best and worst experiences in my life here, but I also gained and lost friends here, as well, and learn a lot about what true friendship feels like and doesn’t feel like.

So here I was driving back here for the first time in 8-9 years after moving away 13 years ago. I saw that sign, “Oxford/Anniston” that for 7 years I saw over and over. As I took the exit and pulled up to the light to turn left onto Hwy 21, I lowered all my windows, and I took in my first bit of air… it smelled the same, and I realized that I hadn’t realized that this town had a smell. But it did, it does, and I recognized it immediately…. it’s like trees and water and… something else I can’t identify. My sense of smell has always been keen and always been very closely tied to my memory. In the same way that a song can transport me back to something, and I feel every emotion again, my sense of smell does the same thing. As I drove up Hwy 21 close to midnight on Friday night and felt the warm breeze in my face, I was bombarded by memories, many I had never forgotten, and some long since buried that whacked me in the chest as though to say, “You think were you just going to forget about me?”

There was the gas station that use to have that ice cream shop inside… I wonder if it’s still in there.  There’s the law office where I worked when I was finishing college… I still know and love Hank and Kaye… how lucky was I to land there soon after arriving in this town? I learned so much during those 2 years. And the side of me that was so open to the lives and experiences of others that were different from my own was fed, daily, by people coming to our office with their own personal dilemmas, tragedies, and life stories. They filled me up, broke my heart, gave me insight I would not have otherwise had, and all of the many ironies that are for another journal entry at another time gave me an affection and profound respect for my boss and his soon to be wife that I have never lost but have grown to appreciate even more over time.

There’s the road that takes you to the bus manufacturing company where I worked the last years I lived in Anniston - where would I begin to describe that whole experience - the good, the bad, the ugly, but so so much GOOD. There’s 10th St Mountain where I lived during my last few years here… where I have some of the sweetest memories even post-heartbreak… sleeping in on Saturdays and waking up to the sound of my car being washed for me just outside my bedroom window by the person who wasn’t scared off by the pieces of me that had to be reassembled after my divorce, the smell of the coffee sitting on the night stand next to me that had become a habit of his since day 1, and a different future in front of me than I had imagined when I first drove through the town those few years before with someone else.

As I keep driving up Hwy 21, I see the gym where my friend Joy and I use to put in some work in step aerobics to Marky Mark & The Funky Bunch, and I see the Pizza Hut where we’d go eat just afterwards, despite swearing we wouldn’t, is still there. I remember eating and shopping at this place, and that place, and oh my goodness, such & such is still there. This was all before my heartbreak, and I have visited these memories many times over the years. 

I passed the post office and saw where I was side swiped by a car making an illegal turn, I had been driving the first new car I’d ever purchased. I’d had a kidney infection that day and was miserable enough without the new hassle and stiffening neck and back. I had just passed by the row of crepe myrtles in the median of Quintard Ave, and I was immediately transported to my very first time seeing them, and I remembered so very clearly what I thought and said then. During that first drive through this part of town, I was sitting in the passenger seat next to my then-husband who was in the Army. We had gotten orders moving us from Germany to Fort McClellan, Alabama, and we were talking about how beautiful this median was. We were looking at everything closely… it was going to be our new home… our first home together in the US since our first 3 years of marriage at age 19 had been spent in Germany.  Ahhh the innocence, oh my naivety… I did not know then all of the devastation that was in my future. That day, I was the proud, excited wife. I was elated to be back in my own country, to experience all of the conveniences I had missed so much being overseas for the previous 3 years. There was the hope that my then-husband would be in the field less often and home more often. There was finally the chance for me to get back to college and finish up what I’d started before leaving my childhood home in Michigan. There was, quite simply, a world of opportunity in front of me. And I was ready for it with an open heart, an open mind, and all of the liberation a 22 year old feels when they’re finally able to start making their life what they want it to be. I hit the ground running.

But back to my trip up Hwy 21… my heart starts to ache as I see the upcoming exit I took many thousands of times to drive back home to the very first house I ever purchased. And there’s Fort McClellan on my right… the whole reason I ever came to this place to begin with back in 1996. 

As I passed the exit I would normally take to my old house, while I was for a moment that ambitious, deliciously naive young lady who had not yet experienced life shattering divorce, I was simultaneously now also the one that was fresh from that experience as more memories flooded me and the contrast of the feelings each of those version of me represented. I was now the one who sat at the light to get onto the highway and felt my heart on the floor by my feet, who still pondered question after question, why me, why this, anger, hurt, resentment, pain, love, confusion, and then all of those things again and again. And again. I was mourning the children I had already been picturing in my mind that we would have together. I was mourning starting over at 26 years old, which for me at that time seemed so very old, expendable, and used up. I was the person sitting in my car at another light a year later hearing Nelly Furtado’s “I'm Like a Bird” coming on the radio, “You’re beautiful… that’s for sure…”, and as I sang the words that day back in 2001, I looked up and saw the person who was just my friend from work at the time but would, 3 years later, become my husband, driving by perpendicular to me, singing the same song. Something inside me then, seeing someone who was my friend, someone who cared about me, someone who knew nothing of the pain I was in since I had not yet spoken of any of these things to anyone, singing this same song as me on his way to… somewhere different than me… gave me hope and calmed me. I don’t know why… it doesn’t correlate to anything really… it just calmed me.  And I remember that moment every single time I hear that song no matter where I am even today. And when I think of my friends I still have in this town today, that’s what they all do for me. They calm my overactive mind and heart. So I felt excited to see the ones I could see during this short visit, and I felt comfort just knowing they lived in this town even if there wasn’t going to be enough time to see them all. 

I kept driving, and I passed by the apartment complex where we lived before buying our house. Further down, there’s the hotel where we stayed before getting our orders completed and the keys to our new apartment. The hotel has the same name, and I see the very door to the room that was our home that first week. I turn right onto the base, which is now owned by the city of Anniston and has actual civilians living on it. It’s the same as I remember, but it’s different, because these people are living here permanently, decorating the outsides of their homes and their lawns with wreaths and other things. I almost stop at the old guard shack where you had to show your military ID, and I remember that I don’t need to do that anymore, and anyway it has now been 17-18 years since I had that ID. I drive down a road and picture vividly the deer that I always encountered in that area, and I see roads that I remember turning off for various reasons… either to head to the track to run, to the commissary and PX, to the military doctor’s office, to meet my then-husband for lunch. But that track. I worked through some serious s*** running that track every night, running up and down those concrete steps in between miles. I can still hear the soundtrack that came through my ear buds in my mind… a Whitney Houston remix “It’s Not Alright, but it’s ok, I’m gonna make it anyway”. I always turned it up to max volume so I wouldn’t hear the sobs coming out of my mouth, and I ran harder.

This weekend has been surreal for me, as every turn, every image, every breath fills me with memories that overload my senses exponentially more than a TJ Maxx. I lost so much in this town, I gained so much in this town, and for 7 years in my 20’s, in many ways, I grew up in this town. I had to leave it; I knew about half way through those 7 years that I would go somewhere else at some point because I had dreams of graduate school, specifically law school at the time. And I needed to be in a bigger city. I didn’t know that it would end up happening the way it did. I didn’t know that my then-husband would become someone to me that I didn’t recognize, that the same would be true of a really good friend of mine, and that at the same time I would pine for the one I thought he was down to the very cells that made up my body. I didn’t know that it would take so long to get through that process. I knew but I didn’t know that I would feel searing pain at imagining him being with someone else in the beginning. And I definitely didn’t know that I would end up finding love again with a friend of mine and be married once more before I left the town several years later. This new man healed the most damaged parts of my heart in ways I didn’t know was possible. I don’t think I would have been open to trial & error with someone I didn’t know, so it made sense that it happened with someone I was friends with first, that I had known him while he was in other relationships and seen the sort of man he was when there was no expectation of any relationship with me… after all, I was happily married, right? And equally consequential is that I got to know my future step daughter as a friend first. I came to this town with someone that I was no longer with half-way through my time here, and I left it with someone with whom I had only experienced happy things with. He and my other friends here were those I knew before, during, and, after. And those people - while they didn’t know what was going on with me while it was going on - they cared for my heart throughout regardless, without even realizing it. And so this town represents for me not just pain but also healing. So I guess it should be no surprise that my experience here this weekend has felt so… heavy. 

Sometimes I wonder how much one’s sense of their own mortality is related to the fates of those closest to them. I think we all know someone who had a parent or both parents die at young ages due to health problems that were related to hard living, poor choices, and/or bad habits and then the grown child, who has the opportunity to do something different and not repeat the mistake, seems to instead tempt fate with self-destructive behaviors and habits. Come to think of it, sadly, I could name 3 people without even thinking about it too hard.
In my own case, I grew up around some unhealthy folks with some unhealthy habits, and some died young, and some lived to be a solid age but spent half their lives feeling like they were going to die.  I am someone who, when asked about family history by doctors, have always said, “Well, yeah, there are a lot of strokes and diabetes and heart disease in my family, but I…” and then go on to explain why I’m not at risk due to my vastly different habits. But. When I really think about life and death and my own future, the truth is I do believe I could be impacted by some of the young deaths in my family… only not by elements that are, to some degree anyway, within my control… i.e., In my mind, although I know it’s still possible, I will not die of lung cancer because I’ve never even experimented with a cigarette. I will not die of a heart attack, because I am conscious of and intentional about preventing the scenario that would predispose me to it. Etc. Etc. Now, also in my mind, very possible causes of death for me include, but are not limited to, death by a bad guy, a car accident, some rare, genetic disease or cancer, or, and this is the most likely scenario: a straight up accident, like I accidentally turn and step off the edge of a building because I wasn’t paying attention. However I die, I’m dead set that it’s going to be something dumb that kills me.
I, who pictured myself as an adult (translation: 18 years old; isn’t that cute?) my entire childhood, cannot picture myself as an elderly person. I talk a lot about the things I HOPE for and would LOVE to happen, like living to be a healthy, active 100 year old, but I really can’t make it out in my mind. In fact, my relationship with my mortality is such that I have always thought that around some unexpected corner awaits my end… and I feel like, for most of my adult life, I have peered around each corner carefully lest THIS be THE ONE, in an effort to trick my destiny into giving me more time. And it’s not that I’m obsessed or paranoid; I just have a certain acceptance that this is my fate. While I love the idea of Jose and I holding our hands and dying in our sleep together when we are in our 90’s or 100’s - The Notebook style, I think I’m actually going to fall down some concrete steps because my flip-flops meet a drop of water on a staircase step from a small leak in the ceiling of whichever building I’m in (flip flops are slippery mofo’s when they meet a wet, concrete, marble, or tiled floor, let me tell you), and that’ll be it. Now, to clarify, I really, really, really hope none of these freak accidents happen, because, aside from the fact that I love life, I have promised my boys I will live a long life, and I also very much want to be the grandma I’m currently preparing to be. But, as morbid as it is…
A lot of times when I have heard of someone dying, and the circumstances are kind of different, I find myself imagining what writing the obituary was like or how close family and friends explain it to people who ask, “What happened? How did so& so pass?” And then I’m taken back to that time I thought I was going to die from the really long stringy cheese that was hanging down my throat from the slice of pizza I was eating. Too embarrassed to let anyone know I was choking, but with no ability to get the cheese, which was clinging to one molar on one end and many inches of it hanging down my throat, out of my windpipe. I nearly passed out from lack of oxygen when I was finally able to get it off my molar and pull it back up my throat like a bucket at the end of a rope in a well. I mean, what a dumb way to die, right? I know I’ll never have to worry about dying because an ATM I was trying to rob fell on me, because I can’t think of any circumstances where I would be breaking into an ATM, but I *could* see myself climbing a vending machine and being crushed by it when it overturns. How do you explain THAT ONE when people who are genuinely concerned and sad about your death ask about the reason for your demise? “Well, it all started with this bag of cheetos that got stuck on the metal spiral thing… and, sure it was $2 in the whole scheme of life, but it was the principle of the thing, and Gina was nothing if not principled.”
This morning I took our dog outside to go potty… and I should preface by explaining that this dog is such a jerk that he can’t even be trusted to go outside like a normal dog to do his business in private. The second he goes out, he immediately runs to the fence and starts digging like it’s his job so he can squeeze and wrangle himself under it and then run around our neighbor’s backyard, slapping at their glass door to let their dog know he’s out there. This is usually when I text my neighbor and remind her how much I can't stand Max and that, oh, by the way, someone is on their way over to fetch him, so don't call the cops when you see someone in your backyard. So someone always has to put the leash on Max, take him out back and walk around for many minutes until he finds just the right place to poop. Well, THIS MORNING, we had a monsoon with an impressive lightning show and loud, cracking thunder overhead, and, as I stood out there blinded by lightning strikes that felt creepy-close, I thought to myself, “Well, this is it. This is IT. THIS is it. What I’ve always waited for and knew what coming… The embarrassing, stupid way to die that was my destiny. I didn’t get run over by a car, I didn’t accidentally drive off the side of a mountain, I didn’t drown (despite several “almosts” over the years), and I wasn’t a victim of any deadly crime. Nope. The story people tell about me will start with, “Well, she was standing at the end of an 8’ leash holding her breath while the dog she could barely stand made not 1, not 2, but 3 piles of poop with threatening weather overhead and her willing him to just pinch it off already, when, all of a sudden, a lightning bolt came straight down out of the sky, and hit her and the fence post. And that was it. She was a goner.” Or, simply, “She died holding the leash of a pooping dog.” And on that note…
The boys call cemeteries “rips”, because they have seen RIP on many a tombstone and don’t realize it’s an acronym. So I was picturing people driving past my rip, (and, by the way, if this happens, then someone didn’t honor my wishes to donate everything and then cremate the rest of me, put me in a pretty, dark brown stained, hand-scraped wooden box, and set me on Jose’s nightstand for the rest of his days, the wishes of any future wife be damned, because I was here first - ahem, Jose), and when these people drive past my rip, I imagine them saying, “Oh, that’s where that Gina Rendon is buried… did you know she was hit by lightning while her dog was taking a dump? What a dumb way to die.” 

This boy. The one who reminds me every day how many days are left until his next birthday ever since he was old enough to grasp time. The one who just. can. not. do anything less than his best and thrives in the limelight. This boy who oozes testosterone and yet insists without apology on sleeping with his duck blanket and butterfly pillow every night. He says to me...
"Mommy, how old do we have to be to get married?” I say, "Welllll, if you decide to get married one day, it needs to be after you’re finished with college and after you start your career and have a place to live. So at least 30 is a good age.” Adrian asks, "But can we get married when we are 29?” And I say, "Well, you can, if you’re ready. Why are you asking?” He doesn't hesitate but just answers, "I just want to know when we CAN get married.... So I don’t miss it.” 
And can I just say that whomever gets to wake up to this face every day will be one of the luckiest alive? #hemightstillbesleepingwithhisblanketandpillow#butdealwithitok?

Adrian: “Mommmmmmmy! I’m donnnnnnne.” Pause. “Mommmmmmmmmmmmy!” 
Pause. Pause. 
"Mommy! Do you know how many minutes I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to wipe my butt so I can get up from here?” 
Pause. Pause. Pause. 
"Mommmmmy Mommmmmy Mommmmmmmy… I’ve been here for six thousand two hundred minutes.” 
Looooong Pause.
“Ooooh. I sure I wish I could upstairs and have fun. But I’m stuck here on the potty because I pooped a lot of minutes ago.” 
“It sounds like my brothers are having a lot of fun. I wish I could go have fun too.” 
“Ughhhh, Mommy? How long have I been here?”
Finally, I headed in his direction. The door was closed, light was off, toilet lid was down. Toilet flushed. 
Maybe ignoring him wasn’t the worst thing I’ll do today after all. #ijustreallywantedtofinishwhatiwasdoingforonce#doesthismakemeabadperson

Adrian walks past me to sit in the seat on the other side of me, stops, and hugs me super tight. Before letting go, he whispers in my ear, "I love you, Mommy. So much. I wish you wouldn't die before us. But you're gonna be a grandma one day, and then you're gonna die. And we are still gonna be here." 
I don't know about you, but I thought this was awfully deep for a baseball game. #heloveshismommy

There's a storage bag that I keep all of the boys' sports uniforms, socks, and hats in so we can find them when we need them. This bag is kept in a cabinet in the laundry room, and, by the end of every week, it is on the laundry room floor looking like it exploded. This morning, Javi was looking for a hat to wear on their field trip to the zoo, and, when I went in to the laundry room for an unrelated reason, he straight up counseled me: "Mommy, all this stuff in this bag is in a mess. I don't know why you put things in places like this. It would be a lot easier for me if I didn't have to dig to find things." 
Once again, this kid has rendered me speechless. 
#REALLY?? #MYorganizationtroublesYOU? #ohtheirony 

Multiple choice...
A) he is so moved by how loved he feels being served a homemade meal even after his mommy worked all day.
B) he is giving me his best fake cry in hopes of getting a ham sandwich instead.
C) the deliciousness of the soup literally brought tears to his eyes.
D) he cannot believe how unloved he must be to be served such a horrific meal.

I was recently within earshot of my boys and some of their friends, and I overheard one kid say to another kid, "Your mom is more fun than my mom." And then another kid said, "My mom's not fun either. She doesn't do anything except the dishes." Another one said, "My mom is a bear at bedtime... except on Fridays when she lets me sleep with her." I kept waiting for the boys to air my dirty laundry, but they didn't... probably because I was within earshot. 😂

What this conversation told me, though, is that we moms really are all dealing with so many of the same challenges. And some days, with our kids' short memory spans - or long memory spans, depending - we can randomly be the fun mom or the bear-at-bedtime mom, or the boring, dish-washing mom, and we are all those things out of necessity, out of our own humanity, and due to the lack of the luxury of the surplus of time or sleep. What they don't know yet is that we have been pretty fun in our day!  And while I try to remind myself to live more in the moment, to say yes in as many occasions as possible, to squeeze out every last bit of enthusiasm at the end of the day to end on a warm, loving note, I know I'm going to gas out sometimes... well, a lot of times.

​There's a surprise awaiting them, though... we are the makings of some super-fun, whatever-you-want-to-do GRANDMAS who don't have so many dishes to do and who aren't perpetually sleep deprived, and we will be able to give that most special gift of our full, patient, all-eyes-on-them attention to their babies. And then they'll be telling us how we were never that fun when they were kids, meanwhile, they'll be sleep deprived, dishwashing bears themselves trying to remember to be fun. #fullcircle

Woke up this morning, enormously relieved that I had some mobility back and knew I would be able to make my business trip today, albeit with some care, a slower pace, and light packing. Coughing and farting are still a distant privilege that I hope might become available to me with less spine-shattering pain within the coming days.
I came downstairs and got the boys’ meals and snacks prepared, backpacks and water bottles packed, laundry (not yet put away - from last week) laid out for the boys to choose their outfits, school paperwork completed, boys’ hair done, Santi dressed, teeth brushed, etc. All of this while experiencing the sweats from back pain that I’m pushing through to get everyone to school on time. I’m marching the boys out the garage door and realize 2 of them don’t even have their shoes tied, so when they start to complain that I’m taking too long, I mention that they could’ve asked Daddy to help them with this before he left. Javi informs me that he didn’t want to ask Daddy to help, because Daddy has a lot of work to do. Hmmm. Ok. 
Currently reevaluating my perception of my life now. 🙄🤔

Some friends are currently in China where they are adopting a little girl, so I've been showing the boys some of the pics and videos they've posted during their stay there. Adrian begged me this morning to take him to China, but Javi had a bleak warning for him:
Javi: "No! We can't go to China. There's fire everywhere!"
Me: "There's fire everywhere?"
Javi: "Yeah, because their state animal is a dragon, and they're everywhere. I read the Book of China, and they're on top of all the buildings and all over the ground, and they blow fire everywhere."
Adrian: "Well, how come Cooper isn't getting burned up then since he's over there?"
Javi: "No, they only blow fire on you if you get in their way. By they're everywhere. Some are frozen, but some aren't. So we can't go there because it's too dangerous." 
#guesswearentgoingtochina

When the doctor is there to assist me in the excruciating process of lying down on the exam table and painstakingly moving my legs around to assess the reason for and specific location of my back pain and then tells me he'll be right back and, "Don't go running off on me", I know I chose the right general practice family doctor's office.
When the nurse comes in and says, "Ok, I'm giving you the first injection in your arm, because the one I put in your butt is gonna hurt like a muther", I know I chose the right general practice family doctor's office.
😂😂😂 #realtalk #itreallydidhurtlikeamuther #dontmakemelaughithurts

Adrian: "I was gonna say I don't like girls, but actually I love girls. Because you're a girl, Mommy." ❤❤❤❤

Yesterday I witnessed something bewildering while putting my groceries in my trunk at a local grocery store. As someone who grew up in neighborhoods where just looking at someone the wrong way or accidentally bumping into someone could put you in the middle of a fight you never wanted, I’m still endlessly amazed at the pettiness of some people and the inability of grown adults to show restraint even in the ‘burbs… albeit, I don’t see street fights anymore and this little grocery store parking lot tiff was a rarity where I live now, but, still, when a scuffle nearly breaks out in a grocery store parking lot over a piece of garbage, it’s baffling to me.

I was pushing my grocery cart out to my car, planning out the rest of the evening in my head. I was all caught up in wishing it were only Saturday afternoon instead of Sunday afternoon, when I overheard loud voices in the near distance. At first, I wasn’t putting the words I was hearing together into any intelligible order, but that feeling in the pit of my stomach was there… the one that happens when I know there’s a fight brewing. A moment later, I realized where the voices were coming from just in time to feel the presence of the source of one of the voices walking towards and then past me. I stayed focused on my groceries so as to not cause any more awkwardness than necessary. Once the first guy passed me, I looked in his direction and saw someone who didn’t appear to want to be in an argument with anyone and was attempting to diffuse a situation while not completely backing down.  I looked in the other direction and saw the source of the other voice walking a short distance behind him with an annoyed expression and appearing to be on the verge of saying something else. He was the antagonist in the situation, and as soon as I saw him and his demeanor, I recognized his type. We all know at least one of that guy… always has to make a point, always has to be right… and even though he IS right in principle, he shows no sign of emotional intelligence or etiquette and, therefore, loses.
When I put together what happened, it seemed like maybe something fell out of dude #1’s car, and he didn’t pick it up… maybe?? And then dude #2 felt inclined to say something and then wouldn’t drop it, and it became a loud exchange. The fact that he would not let it go and seemed to be following dude #1 into the store was unsettling to me, and I left never to find out if there was a confrontation inside. He very much seemed to WANT the other guy to make a move in his direction… just to give him a legitimate reason to escalate it.
But all of this got me thinking about how many times per day I tell my kids, “You worry about you, unless someone needs help” and also “If you make a mess, you clean it up. If you see something needs to be done, just do it.” There are other Mommy-isms that my boys could easily recite, such as “Treat others the way you want to be treated, not the way they treat you,” and, “Sometimes people are having a bad day… just take the high road and do the right thing”, and more still, “You might be doing something nicer for someone than you even realize because they could be having a really bad day, and one day someone will do something nice for you that you really need that day.” Did these guys not hear and/or absorb these simple tools while growing up?
I kind of just think that, even - and especially - as adults, we should worry about ourselves unless we are trying to help. Let me say that again, UNLESS WE ARE TRYING TO HELP. And help we should, if we are able. In this case, if trash falls out of someone’s car, and they don’t pick it up, I think it’s entirely appropriate to think, “What an asshole.” But do we need to treat that person like they’re an asshole? No, we really don’t. We can ignore them or show them some grace, but we don’t have to publicly humiliate them. Does this count if they have locked an animal or child in the car in the middle of July? Absolutely not - this might be the only time it’s ok to let someone know in the presence of whomever is around that they’re a jerk. But if, otherwise, we are so high-strung and principle-driven that we have to publicly berate someone over something like littering - and on a windy day, no less - then we need to center and refocus… and maybe take up kickboxing or something. Littering is annoying, but so is being an imbecile. And what about kids that might be watching this exchange?
I wonder what kind of reaction dude #2 would have gotten if he'd said politely, “Oh, let me get that for you… it’s really windy today, isn’t it?” #deliveryisimportant #youcatchmorebeeswithwhat? #honey 
OH and one from my own mom when I was growing up: #twowrongsdontmakearight

He may not look a thing like me, but he is totally my child. #flowers #hotcocoa #thesearetwoofmyfavoritethings